Guardian
by Kitori
Summary: When Kel is selected by the gods to perform a task of the utmost importance they flipped a coin , the only one less thrilled with her assigned guardian angel is him.
1. To sleep, perchance to dream...

Guardian :01

To sleep, perchance to dream...            

"At last," sighed Kel.  "I can finally get some rest."  The Scanran reports had all been filed, each rider assigned his post, a map of the entire city from Needle's-eye view compiled, and the glaive been practiced until her fingers had been replaced with digit-sized blisters.  Now, in the privacy of her chamber, she allowed herself to fall ungracefully into bed, the thunk of her head against the pillow hopefully marking the beginning of a long night's undisturbed rest.

Knock. Knock.

Unseen from its sanctuary buried in the goose-down, Kel's brow furrowed.  Surely that wasn't her door.  Nobody on earth could be tactless enough to knock on _her_ door so late at night.  Maybe she could just pretend she was asleep until her visitor left.

Knock knock knock.

What if it was an emergency?  Sir Raoul with a new development at the Scanran front, Sir Myles with an urgent report from one of his spies, Dom come to confess his undying passion?  No, the first two were entirely unlikely.  Kel turned her head and squinted in the direction of her door.  *_Go away,*_ she commanded.  _*I order myself to get some sleep.*_

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

With a sigh, Kel pushed herself out of bed, stumbled to the door and swung it open.  There was Nealan, looking entirely too chipper for what the bell-towers claimed to be 2 am.  "Hey, Kel!" he exclaimed.  "I've finally finished my thesis project on hydrosteroidmonodynamicthermoplexis!  Want to hear?!"  She stared at him.  He smiled widely at her.

_Slam._

Kel considered herself a _morning_ person, not an _ungodly-hour-in-the-morning_ person.  Blindly she found her way back to her bed and slipped inside, relishing the warmth of blankets and the silence provided by sticking one's head under the pillow.

Knock knock knock : )

            _*How do knocks come with a smiley face?*_  wondered Kel.  She ignored it.

Knock. Knock-knock ^^

            _*No.  Nonono.  Go awaaaaay.*_

Knock, knock, knockity-knock.  _Knock_knock! Knock _knock_!  Knock-knock-knockity-knock-knock-kno--

            "**_WHAT?!_**"  Kel swung the door open, grabbed the visitor by the throat and shoved him against the doorframe.

            Owen was unfazed.  "Hullo, Kel!  I was in the neighborhood and I was wonderin' if you'd like to go out an' play frisbee with me and the doggy!"  He gestured to the adorable golden retriever who was actively involved in chewing at Kel's ankle.  She looked down at it, feeling a snarl rise to her lips.  "Blimey! He likes you!" exclaimed Owen.

_Slam!_

            "Jolly, then!" called Owen's voice from the other side of the door.  "See you tomorrow, then, shall I?"

            This was becoming vexing.  Pulling open her night-stand drawer, Kel ripped out two wads of cotton and stuffed them in her ears, grabbed a winter hat from her dresser and pulled it on over her head, pulled herself into bed and covered head with first the pillow, both sheets, both blankets, three quilts and the duvet.  _No one_ would interrupt her now.  She closed her eyes and began to enter a deep, blissfully dreamless sleep...

What were those vibrations?  Could that be knocking?

Nah.

But it wasn't stopping.  Maybe this was something important?  No.  If it were _that_ important the person would knock down the door or something.

They were getting stronger.  _*Not coming, not coming,* _chanted Kel. _*Not until you send psychic messages in my sleep will I even acknowledge you, my nocturnal pest.*_

OPEN THE DOOR.

What?  She was imagining that.  _*Just kidding, not even then,*_ she thought.

I SAID OPEN THE DOOR!

Kel covered her head with the arms.  _*Nuh-uh.  Nothing doing.*_

N     N     OO     W   W   W    !

N N N   O    O     W W W

N     N     OO         W  W

            "Look, you!" she began, pulling herself out of bed for the umpteenth time and starting towards the door.  "I'm _tired._  Whatever you have to say can _wait--_"  She swung open the door.

What was _he_ doing here?

            "Took you long enough," he remarked, leaning against the doorway with a smirk.  He obviously expected some reaction.

_*I ought to react.  He _is_ supposed to be dead.*_  Instead she returned his smirk and said, "Sorry, I can't hear you."  It was true.  She couldn't even hear herself say it.

Joren looked annoyed.  "I _said_, 'Took you long enough,'" he repeated crossly.  "What's the matter, got cotton stuffed in your--" he stopped, realizing that that was precisely the case.  "You crazy slut," he snapped, pushing Kel back into her room.  With a snap of his fingers the candle at her desk was lit; he tore Kel's hat off and flung it across the room, followed by the two wads of cotton.  "That's better," he muttered to himself, taking Kel by the shoulders and leaning close to her ears.

"CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, LUMP?!"

Yes, but Kel ignored him anyway. _*I guess this is part of a dream,*_ she decided.  Dream-Joren apparently didn't like her decision, because his wings ruffled angrily.

"Answer me, you idiot girl!  I'm not here for my health!"  _*Wings?  Definitely a dream, then.  Maybe I ought to humor him.*_

"Hello Joren," she said pleasantly.  "How have you been these past few years?"  He stared at her incredulously.

"I've been _dead._  How do you think?!"

"That's nice.  If you don't mind, I'm too tired for dreams right now, and I'd rather like to get some sleep.  It's hard work being alive, you know.  So ta-ta, okay?"  

"You think I'm a dream?"  Joren shook his head.  "I'll give you this, Mindelan: what you lack in brains you make up for in stupidity."  With that, he reached over, took her arm and gave her a vicious pinch.

"OWW!"  Kel wasn't usually given to exclamations of pain, but she truly hadn't expected it to hurt.  She looked up--actually down--at the boy in shock.  "You aren't a dream?!" she gasped.  Joren shook his head and smirked.  "Then you're a ghost?"

"_No,_" growled the boy.  "You think these wings and gold-thingy are just for decoration?"

"You mean..." Kel trailed off, staring at the ethereal creature before her.  Even in life, Joren with his corn silk locks and blue-glass eyes had looked like an angel.  Now, with the soft ruffled wings folded behind his back and the shimmering gold halo floating gently over his windswept hair, there was only one thing she could say.

"I'm taller than you."

"DAMNIT, Mindelan!  Is that the _only_ thing you can say on having an angel come down from the heavens to pay you a visit?!"  
  


"Umm, how about: I thought you'd have horns and a pointy tail and be burning somewhere in a sulfurous pit?"

"Very funny."  He didn't look amused.  "For your information, I'm stuck here with you for _your_ benefit, so if you're going to get cute I'll just leave you to rot!  Have some respect for your elders, for Mithros' sake!"  _*And how many times did Paxy tell me that?*_ he wondered to himself.  Joren noticed Kel giving him a strange look.  "What?"

"You died when you were eighteen."

_*What is wrong with this idiot?*_  "Yes, and?"

            "I'm eighteen now.  That means we're the same age."  Joren was beginning to remember why in life he had despised her so much.

            "Look, you ugly--" he paused, staring at the window.  Was that the silhouette of a cat perched on the outside sill?  This room was three stories up...He blinked again and the creature was gone.

            "What are you staring at?"  Kel glanced at the window, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

            "Nothing.  Listen, we have to get down to business.  Believe it or not, the gods need you to do some momentous task for them or something, and I've been assigned to help you with it to make up for my punishment.  Rotten deal if you ask me, but that's religion for you."

            "Hold on a second!"  Kel put a hand up in the air to stop him.  "The gods need me for something?  What about the lioness?  And you can't go giving me all of this, I don't even know if I believe you're here yet!"

            "Why wouldn't you believe I'm here?"

            "Let's see," she started to tick the reasons of her fingers.  "You're supposed to be dead, dead people don't walk around, even if you were here you wouldn't be an _angel_, there's no way the gods would ever trust you with _anything_, and besides, I've been under a lot of stress lately."

"What's stress got to do with anything?"

"Stress causes hallucinations.  How am I to know you aren't a figment?"

"A _figment?!_"  For the first time she'd known him, Joren looked well and truly offended.  "I'm certainly not a _figment_!  Look, just so we can get on with this stupid mission, how can I prove I'm not a--a hallucination?"

"Hmm..."  That was a tough one.  Idly, Kel reached out a hand to poke Joren in the arm, but instead her finger went right through.  She couldn't even see it out the other end.

"Do you _mind_?" Joren snapped.  "That tickles."

"Is that so?"  She took her finger out and back in again.  It was strange to see your own hand disappear into nothingness.  "I guess you're real, then."

"What?!"

"If you were fake, you'd pop or something when I touch you."

Joren stared at her.  "You are just too weird," he said slowly.  "So you accept the mission from the gods."

"Do they have any idea how busy I am?  And you didn't answer my question: why me?  Why not the Lioness, or the king, or the prince, or one of the heroes?  And how is it you can touch me but I can't touch you?"

"Believe me, Mindelan, you don't want to know how they chose you."  He sighed and took a seat on the bed.  "As for the other question, you think of me as dead, as do all mortals here, so to them I am impossible to touch, being only a specter.  However, I only remember being alive, so I can touch anything I like because I remember being able to touch it.  Also, since I'm _your_ guardian angel, you are the only mortal who is able to see me, other than those who would be able to see me anyway."

"Who would that be."

Joren scowled.  "Don't you know anything about the dead?  Children, animals, some priests, other immortals and those born on All Hallow's Eve."  He yawned.  "Let's continue this chat in the morning, shall we?  I'm tired, and it's nearly 3 in the morning."  He pulled the covers over himself and soon Kel found she had an angel sleeping in her bed.

_Her_ bed.

"Where am _I_ supposed to sleep?!"

***

to be continued...

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!  Don't forget to review!

Also, for those who like it, you might consider reading 'Fairy Tale,' which is also mine.  It's rated R, but it's more like PG-15.  But it's slash, so if slash doesn't scare you, consider checking it out!

Keep checking back!  This one I'll update as quickly as I can...*bye!*


	2. Stairway to Heaven Trial:Part I

Guardian :02

Stairway to heaven...

            "There must be some mistake," he repeated for the millionth time.  "I belong *down there,* not *up here.*"  This part he phrased very slowly for the ferrygirl, who was still ignoring him.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it!" she exclaimed, dipping the oar into the mist, propelling the small boat quickly across the cloudy river.  "And depending how you did, you get a job.  I bet they make you herald, that's usually where they put the pretty ones.  It makes the Realm look good.  Heavenly and all that."  Abruptly the boat stopped, pitching Joren forward.

"All ashore!" exclaimed Charon with a broad sweep of her hand.  The 'shore' was in reality a small marble landing, surrounded on all sides by the lapping clouds of the river Acheron.  Extending from the ground was a long, spiraling staircase of white ivory with golden railing, ascending skyward.  Even craning his neck Joren couldn't see where it ended.

"Up you go!"  Charon pointed at the staircase.

"What?!  You expect me to walk up that thing?!"  The girl grinned and pointed out the sign posted to the bottom of the railing:

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER.

PLEASE USE STAIRS.

            "What's an elevator?" asked Joren.  Charon ignored the question.

"Be glad there is one.  In Hell, there are none at all, only stairs."

"Why?"

"In case of fire."  She grinned wickedly.  "Well, I'm off!"  She pushed the oar against the landing and the ferry began to float away.

"Wait!" called Joren.  "What happens when I get to the top?"  _*_If_ I get to the top,*_ he added silently.  Charon was drifting farther and farther away.  He couldn't hear her reply.  "What?"

"Trial!" came the distant, cheerful reply.  "And watch out, the gods have a bad sense of..." the words trailed away as girl and ferry disappeared completely into the fog.  Joren turned back to face the staircase.  He could just picture Lord Wyldon ordering the pages to job up and down it three times...With a sudden pang, he wondered if Lord Wyldon--or anyone, for that matter--would miss him.

"Great," he muttered, bringing his thoughts back to the present.  He was looking down at his clothes, the same he had worn at the Ordeal.  This meant nothing but a thin, undyed tunic and bare feet.  "I hope it brings me more luck at this 'trial' than it did in the Chamber," the boy muttered, pushing his hair back and beginning his ascent.

***

            "Five-hundred-fortynine-thousand, six-hundred eighty_one_, five-hundred-fortynine-thousand, six-hundred eighty_two_, five-hundred-for--" He was still climbing.  Idly Joren wondered what would happen if her were to jump over the railing.  Would he fall in the River Acheron?  If so, would he drown?  If that happened, would Charon pull him out and bring him to the bottom of the stairs again, or would he be taken by a different ferryman to a different Realm of the Dead?  Was there a Realm of the Dead _to_ the Realm of the Dead?  Or maybe it really did just stop, as Joren had always supposed happened at death.  The possibility of an afterlife hadn't occurred to him, and he had laughed off Lord Turomot's predictions of the following trial.

The trial he was about to attend.

If he ever got UP these god-damned stairs!

            Well, they probably weren't _really_ damned by the gods, since here they were right in the middle of--wherever this was.  And he really, really, really hoped Lord Turomot's predictions didn't come true.

            "--tynine-thousand, six hundred...wait, where was I?  Crap!"  He stopped midstep and looked down.  It was a long way to the bottom.  He looked up.  The top was _still_ out of sight.  "You know what?  I quit.  You hear that?! **I QUIT!**"

            "Don't quit now!" exclaimed a deep, burly voice next to Joren's ear.  "Your thoughts were just getting interesting."

            "Besides," whispered a sweeter, smoother voice in Joren's other ear, "we're ready for you now."

            "May the trial begin!"

***

            As those words were spoken, Joren found himself in the center of a large courtroom.  At the judge's stand was a great, barrel-chested man with bright blonde hair and a short beard, clad in judges' robes and clutching a gavel.  _*Mithros,*_ thought Joren.   _*Literally.*_  To his right was a tall, slender woman with long, ebony hair and large crimson lips curled into a smile.  Her dress, of gold and black velvet and lace, would have made the wealthiest of queens curdle with envy.  This woman was the Great Mother, or so Joren assumed.  To either side of the God and Goddess were the lesser deities, some of whom Joren could recognize from Sunday-school descriptions.  They lined the walls of the courtroom, surrounding Joren on all sides.  The room was alive with chatter, which died down to a hush at the moment of the descent of Mithros' gavel.

            "Order!" commanded Mithros.  "Beginning the trial of Joren of Stone Mountain!  

            "Now?!" exclaimed Joren.  "Hold on, don't tell me walking up all those stairs was just busy work!"  The deities exchanged glances.

            "Would you prefer it remained a secret?" the Goddess asked patronizingly.

            "What the hell is the purpose of having me walk up all those damned stairs when I could have just stayed still and saved my energy?"  Mithros clucked and shook his head laughingly.

            "Ahh, you mortals," he chuckled fondly.  "First of all, we are in Heaven, not Hell.  Second of all, there's not _that_ many stairs, only three.  You just _thought_ there were more.  In actuality you were walking on the middle stair the whole time.  It's an optical illusion," he added boastfully, drawing the term out so Joren could understand.

            "He made it himself," the Goddess explained with a fond look at her husband.  "He's very proud of it."

            "Nice," replied Joren sourly.

            "Third of all," continued Mithros, "you're dead, so what does it matter if you waste your energy?  You don't need it anyway.  And fourth, you were only climbing it for a couple of minutes.  What are you complaining for?"

            "A couple of *minutes*?!  More like a couple of DAYS!"

            "No, I believe it was about three hours," corrected the Goddess.

            "Four weeks!" called one of the deities in the crowd.

            "Ten years!" disagreed another.

            "Not at all," shouted a third.  "It was a century!"  The crowd fell into a tumult of shouting and arguing, judge and all.  _*Time.  Bad perception of time.*_ decided Joren, stifling a yawn.

            "Order!" called Mithros finally, pounding his gavel.  "I have decided the amount of time the defendant spent on the stair is irrelevant to the case.  Time to get on with the trial!"  His words were met with a murmur of agreement.  "Now commencing with the trial of Joren of--"

            "Hold on a moment," Joren interrupted.  _*Or a year, a second, an hour...*_  Mithros looked affronted.

            "You can't interrupt me!" he protested.  "I am the King of the Gods."

            "Sure, fine.  Anyway, I have a complaint."  The jury buzzed in confusion until Mithros sulkily gestured with a mighty hand for the boy to continue.

            "I think," the squire began, straightening his tunic and standing tall in his white, bare feet, "that you have made a gross miscalculation in bringing about my death."

            The Goddess, whom Joren deemed remarkably like Queen Thayet, arched a slender eyebrow.  "Go on," she commanded.

            "The Chamber of the Ordeal destroys or punishes those who aren't worthy in spirit to become knights.  For example, when Vinson of Genlith, a rapist and murderer, had his Ordeal, it released him and caused him to suffer through every wound he'd inflicted upon his victims."

            "A fitting punishment," interjected the Goddess.  Joren inclined his head.

            "I, on the other hand, have never raped or murdered.  It is true I was a bully for three years, but my worst crime consisted of kidnapping a girl and putting her on a tower for half a day.  Half a day!  With no other harm done to her.  And I was but fifteen.  Yet in the Chamber *I* was condemned to death.  How is it fair that my crime is nowhere _near_ as bad as Vinson's yet my punishment was so much worse?  And in what way am I unworthy to be a knight?  I was the best student Lord Wyldon ever had!  It's true that I don't approve of ladies becoming knights, but there are a lot of knights who don't.  And there are many knights just as stuck-up and arrogant as me!"

            "You say that, yet in all of history you are the only mortal who has ever dared argue with the Court of Gods at his own trial," mused Mithros.

            "You can't say it's because my resistance posed a threat to the Tortallan Crown," continued Joren.  "Alexander of Tirragen and Roger of Conte both passed the Ordeal, yet they tried and succeeded in killing off half the Royal Family and bringing the country to its knees.  I come from a rich, completely loyal family and live life--or lived it, anyhow--in luxury.  I had no such ambitions as they.  So how can you possibly justify killing me at the Ordeal?"

            His speech was met with silence all around.  The God and Goddess exchanged grave glances and the queen nodded slightly.

            "The trial of Joren of Stone Mountain is concluded," the God King announced quietly, and the courtroom around Joren disappeared.

***

to be continued...

Sorry it's so late, guys!  I was planning to upload everyday, but Calculus and writer's block have gotten the better of me.  I was able to churn this out, finally.  This is part one of two, so next update you'll get to see what's actually going on.  This is a flashback, if you couldn't tell.  And Charon is the ferryman in Greek mythology, but I thought a ferrygirl like Botan from Yu Yu Hakusho would be cool.  Please review : )                                              Love, me 3


	3. Elven Linguistics 101 Trial:Part II

Guardian :03

Elven Linguistics 101…

***Flashback (WITHIN a flashback.  How innovative!)***

                        He couldn't tell up from down, river surface from river bottom, gravity from buoyancy in the frigid chill of the Rhyssen river.  The 8-year-old _could_ tell the difference between air and water, enough to know that he was out of the former and not likely to gain any more of it at the moment.  In vain he propelled his limbs, kicking out wildly, but the gentle tendrils of seaweed were wrapping around them, enveloping his body like delicate, sinuous snakes, dragging him closer and closer to the rocks.  His burning lungs were on fire, and he reflexively gasped, filling them and his nostrils with icy water.  He writhed, shutting his eyes, refusing to give in to the inevitable watery death.

Joren woke up.

He was resting on the long grass bordering the river by his family's castle, his clothes sopping wet, with bits of seaweed still clinging tenaciously to his arms.  Joren took a deep breath, allowing his body to fill with precious, cherished air, and didn't flinch when gentle arms encircled him.

            "Feeling alright?"  A female's deep voice asked.  He looked up to see a woman--not from _his_ family's region, by the look of her coal-black hair and dark eyes--who smiled down at him.  The one who rescued him from the river.  Yet her dress--a white, wispy garment with long skirts and wide sleeves--was completely dry, despite the state of his own water-logged attire.  With a sudden shock stiffening his limbs, he realized she'd spoken his people's language, the one passed down from their elven ancestors before they'd moved on to the divine realms, leaving their half-human progeny behind.  Joren gazed at the woman in wonder.

            "I was happy to rescue you," she told him, the timbre of her words reminding him of wolves baying in moonlight.  "Will you do me a favor in return?"

            "Of course, Goddess."  For that was surely who this woman must be.

            "I knew you would."  She raised an elegant hand to smooth his pale hair, which dried as she did so.  "In two years you shall leave your homeland to become a knight of the Tortallan realm.  When you are there, a girl shall arrive also to seek her shield.  When she does, you must _hate_ her.  Do you understand?"

            Joren nodded.  "I shall do as you ask, my lady," he whispered.  The woman smiled again.

            "Good."

***End flashback***

            "See?  I told you," scowled Joren (teenage version) at the Goddess, after the two of them and Mithros had watched the scene unfurl.  "I did exactly as you told me to!  What am I in trouble for?"

            "It's hardly _my_ fault the Elven words for 'hate' and 'befriend' are practically the same," she snarled back.  "And if it hadn't been for me you _would_ have died that day in the river, so stop complaining!"

            "So you saved my life in order to kill me later?"

            "Actually, yes," interrupted Mithros from where he sat in the grass, weaving together flowers to make a daisy chain.  He rose and hung it around Joren's shoulders.  "You were living on borrowed time all along.  The idea was to let you live long enough to befriend the Protector of the Small, so there would be no problem later when she would need your assistance.  The Ordeal was a perfect opportunity to take your life the second time."

            Joren was nonplussed.  "The sorry of the who?  And how can I guard anyone when I'm _dead_?"

            Mithros and the Goddess exchanged glances.  "Do you want to tell him, or shall I?"  the Goddess asked.  Mithros sighed.

            "I'll do it.  Martyrs make good gods, as they say."  He looked down at Joren, expression entirely serious, and grasped the mortal's shoulders.  "Joren of Stone Mountain, you have been destined to the position of Guardian Angel for the Protector of the Small, known to you as Keladry of Mindelan."

            Joren stared in disbelief.  The God and Goddess stared back at him with deadpan expressions.  "Pardon?  I don't think I heard you correctly."

            "You did."

            Joren didn't say a word, covering his mouth with an aristocratic hand.  His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

            "Are you alright?" asked the Goddess, bewildered, but before she could take a step toward him the boy burst out laughing.

            "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!  I mean, I knew the gods had a sense of humor--look at Queenscove--but this?!  Come on, seriously, what'd you two off me for?"

            Mithros frowned.  "It _isn't_ a joke," he insisted.  "You've been destined from the beginning to be the guardian to Mindelan.  She's got a very important task ahead of her and she needs some celestial assistance.  That's _you._"

            Joren looked between Mithros and the Goddess, his laughter stopping abruptly at the sight of their serious faces.  "You're joking," he said again, this time without humor.  When they said nothing, his white face began to color.  "There's _no_ way in Hell I will _ever--_"

            "Hell," interrupted Mithros.  "Exactly where you'll be if you _don't_ comply.  I wouldn't go there, especially if you don't like--"

            "Stairs.  Fire.  You got that from the ferrygirl," replied Joren testily.  "Why the h--why'd you choose Mindelan anyway?  And what's with this Protector of the Small thing?"

            "Read the book, it'll come out five minutes ago," the Great Mother interjected.

            "No, it'll make him mad," disagreed Mithros.  "She goes out of her way _not_ to mention his name."

            "What are you _talking_ about?!" Joren raged.  The deities exchanged omniscient looks and smiled patronizingly.

            "Nothing," the king of gods replied vaguely, with a wave of his hand.  "Anyway, do you agree or not?"

            "The choice is yours," added the Goddess.  "Sulferous pits or saving the world?"   The gods waited while Joren stood silently, staring balefully at the grass.

            "Well?" asked Mithros, after 7 hours (5 minutes to us mortals).

            "I'm thinking!"

            "Humans!" the Goddess rolled her eyes.  "We'll make you a deal.  If you help us out in this regard, you can be visible to certain others as well as Keladry of Mindelan.  Does that sound fair?"

            "Why would I care about that?"  She raised her hand; Joren's eyes closed, then snapped open a minute later.  "I'll do it," he agreed, slender body shaking.  Mithros frowned at his companion, then nodded.

            "Good.  We shall have our Director of Guardian Angel Affairs instruct you himself."  Joren felt something rub against his legs, then looked down to see a coal-black cat winding itself around his feet.  He picked the feline up.

            "Good morning," said the cat, causing Joren to nearly drop it in surprise.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, as one celestial guardian to another.  I shall be training you starting today."

            "What the--?" gaped Joren.

            "Meet Faithful," said the Goddess pleasantly.  "He'll be your teacher from now on.  Make sure he stays on task," she added to the cat, who was purring happily in Joren's arms.  The cat stretched lazily.

            "Don't worry," he reassured her.  "By the time I'm done with him he'll be a first class guardian angel."

***

To be continued…

Sorry sorry sorry for the long update.  I claim schoolwork as the cause?  Please review if you like my story.  Should it be K/J?  That would be necrophilia.  3  I shall try to update in exactly 1.5 weeks (that's next Wednesday, I think).  BTW, anyone interested in being my beta? (which serves the double purpose of also nagging me into updating before 4.5 months have passed…)


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